


Eros Echo

by Nyanoka



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Brief Handjob, Double Penetration, First Time, M/M, Mild Praise Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self-cest, Sexual Coercion, Size Difference, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanoka/pseuds/Nyanoka
Summary: Leon finds himself thrown over a decade into the future, and like many people, he's rather curious about certain things.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Dande | Leon, Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Kudos: 20





	1. Resound

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be finished way earlier, but I got caught by real life stuff, so unfortunate...but it's here now anyhow.

Fingers comb through his hair as a hand pushes underneath his shirt, palm equally calloused as the pads pressing against his scalp and fingers groping at his soft stomach and thin chest, and Leon finds a noise leaving him, breathy and high and certainly not helped by the erection pressing against his clothed ass, the teeth nipping at his neck, and the set of hands gripping at his waist, neatly trimmed nails digging lightly into jutting hipbones.

He shouldn’t be doing this—he knows what his mother would say—but he doesn’t see anything wrong in it, not with the identity of his partner, one of them anyhow, and not with his own curiosity and his own willingness.

He wouldn’t be hurt, forced into a situation he doesn’t want. He knows that for certain.

Even with an added decade and a half’s worth of aging, twenty-six to his own eleven, he knows his own face and his own inclinations. He, his older self rather, wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone, let alone a younger version of himself, and Raihan has never been the forceful sort, overly playful and a bit scatterbrained at times if he considers his own version of him but not especially harsh.

Furthermore, he doesn’t think his older self would associate with Raihan as he does if he were. He isn’t, they aren’t rather, lenient, overly accommodating.

It isn’t a particularly plausible scenario in most cases—sex with yourself rather than masturbation is a common _fantasy_ for a reason—but it isn’t like time travel is a complete impossibility in their world, incredibly unlikely and heatedly disputed but not entirely impossible because of the rumored existences of beings such as Dialga and Celebi.

Well, he shouldn’t say rumored, not in relation to Celebi. It is the reason for their current situation after all—he and Charmeleon following after a pink blur and disappearing in a flash of white moments after cornering it. The fall afterward hadn’t been hard—he could, at the very least, thank Celebi for that—but it had been awkward, panic-inducing even.

Dropping onto a then-stranger's lap in the middle of his living room and bereft of his own Pokémon, Charmeleon included, couldn’t be described as anything but such nor could his thrashing then, wrists soon grabbed and stilled by much larger hands, be described as anything else.

"It’ll be fine.” He had heard then, voice resoundingly familiar despite the differences to his own and drawing a pause just long enough for him to truly look at his surroundings.

A familiar face, albeit sharper and lacking in the roundness of childhood, and a familiar shade of gold, eyes oddly calm despite everything. Though, he hadn’t had much time to scrutinize then before another voice had chimed in, equally bewildered as himself.

“Who the fuck is that?”

He hadn’t expected to see Raihan then—limbs longer and stature much larger, less scrawny and less vaguely malnourished, than the one he knows, but face still recognizable underneath a familiar, orange headband—but he also hadn’t expected to hear an even reply, a simple “myself,” from his older self.

He doesn’t know how time travel works—would his older self already know about him?—but it, at the very least, makes the ensuing explanation simpler even if none of them could come to an agreement on what to do. They’re too divided on that—Raihan too keen on an immediate solution, his older self too intent on waiting it out, and he himself simply too confused.

He hadn’t understood most of their conversation either. He doesn’t know who Victor is, how he would be able to help—something about borrowing a Pokémon?—or even simply why Piers would be mad at a call. It isn’t particularly late at night, eight exact, and he doesn’t think a simple call would trigger an argument.

Certainly, Piers has a temper, one apparently undampened by the years, but Leon also knows him as someone reasonable. He doesn’t think a simple call would trigger an argument, but still, it isn’t _his_ Piers. He doesn’t know him like his older self and Raihan do.

Whatever his older self’s reasoning, it doesn’t particularly matter, not with how they are now weeks later—he squished in-between them and bed creaking beneath their combined weight.

None of it—the fingers playing with his chest, thick digits squeezing dark nipples; the teeth grazing lightly at his neck, wet tongue lapping at the skin; or the hands upon his hips, grip tightening with each passing moment with just enough control to avoid bruising—is a consequence of coercion.

Rather, he had requested it, naturally curious as he is. He doesn’t think it’s weird to have sex with yourself—it’s more akin to masturbation than anything else he thinks, and his older self had agreed readily enough—or an older version of one of your rivals, not when Raihan had also agreed to it after a few minutes of pause and coaxing.

Another nip on the right side of his neck, teeth pressing roughly against sensitive skin, and Leon finds another noise leaving him, higher-pitched and near-whining.

“Doing alright so far?” He feels another stroke through his hair before a hand settles lightly on his shoulder, fingers spread and slipping into the opening of his shirt to rub at his collarbone, nails grazing gently.

“Y-yeah.” He shouldn’t be embarrassed as much as he is—they’re the same person after all—but he just doesn’t quite know what to do. Where his hands should be, Where his eyes should look, or even simply how he should react.

It isn’t that he doesn’t understand. He’s broken through the parental lock on his phone before, and he has purloined a few magazines from his father’s private bookshelf before, but still, it isn’t quite the same.

With his father’s magazines, there hadn’t been the faint scent of day-old cologne, earthy with notes of citrus; there hadn’t been a flush of heat, a consequence of roaming hands rather than tangled bedsheets and the fluorescent bulb of his desk lamp; and there certainly hadn’t been anyone else, no one besides himself and the glossy pages.

There hadn’t been anything besides the crinkle of pages, overly loud in the silence of his bedroom, and the clumsy motions of his own hand, voice muffled and teeth biting, clenching, around a wadded towel.

He hadn’t need to know what to do, not with the pages already printed and the videos already filmed.

Nonetheless, however, It had been easy enough to ask. He has always been curious, more prone to wanting hands-on experience than simply watching, and he has always liked Raihan—the casual gait, the lilt of his voice, and the easygoing smile, always a bit lopsided with teeth peeking.

They, the one he knows and the one with him now, aren’t quite the same—body too large and too toned, an adult’s physique rather than a child’s; voice too deep, lacking in the distinctive crack of puberty; and motions entirely self-assured rather than tinged with a faint self-consciousness.

He, the one with him now, isn’t quite the same. He isn’t a child in any sense of the word. He doesn’t know him, not in the truest sense of the phrase, yet he does. He _shouldn’t_ know him as he does now, not yet anyhow, not until he—he and his rather—have both grown, childhood near or fully shed and late adolescence and finally adulthood taking root.

He shouldn’t ask as he had or act as he does now, but they shouldn’t either—accepting.

But still, it isn’t as if he _minds_. He’s too curious for that, too curious about his older self and what he himself would look like years later, too curious about—too interested in—Raihan, and too curious about adulthood, reality and present over fantasy and still, borrowed pages.

Leon feels Raihan’s teeth leave, lips still brushing lightly against his neck alongside the barest hint of cool metal, earrings. His Raihan hadn’t pierced his ears yet, hadn’t even thought about it or mentioned it in passing yet.

“You sure?” Leon shudders at Raihan's words, each syllable warm and soft, and at the fingers sliding along delicate skin to push into the waistband of pants, belt already undone and buckle clinking with each shift and shuffle of their bodies. “Really, don’t be shy about it.”

Deep and reverberating, rumbling—noise drawing another shudder as he feels his stomach tighten, coiling and anticipatory, and the hand upon his shoulder move, nails and calloused palm sliding upon upward upon sweaty skin before settling lightly on his flushed cheek, thumb and forefinger rubbing circles.

Lips press against his, mouth larger than his own and beard scratchy against his bare chin, before his older self withdraws, breath tickling and tinged by the faintest scent of mint.

“Really,” his older self repeats. “You can tell us anything.” He leans forward, lips pressing against the corner of Leon’s mouth, before murmuring, “You can tell me at the very least, right? We’re the same person after all.”

His older self doesn’t wait for a reply, too excited and too sure of everything—his willingness, his pleasure, and his desire, all readily apparent in the slight shiver of his body and the way his hands clench at the fabric of his pants, both consequences of his older self’s words, heady despite their candidness, and the fingers tracing along his navel, occasionally dipping pass his pants’ waistband and into his boxers to prod against a small, straining cock.

Instead, Leon feels the hand on his cheek slide downward once more, fingers soon settling upon his bare chest to lazily play with perked nipples, and a tongue prod against his mouth, saliva wetting chapped lips, before it slips in to slide against his own tongue, motion aggressive and teeth occasionally nipping with just enough force to draw a muffled yelp.

Another noise escapes him, equally muffled as the last, as he feels himself pushed backward, back soon meeting a broad, bare chest, and as a hand finally grasps at his erection, pants and boxers pushed downward and cock fitting tidily against the palm and soon leaking further as calloused fingers rub against his length and slit, texture rough yet pleasant.

Leon almost bucks in an attempt to garner more friction until he feels a hand, Raihan’s, come to rest on his hip and the grip on his cock tighten, nails digging into the sensitive flesh with just enough control to avoid leaving imprints and rough motion drawing another yelp, teeth nearly biting down on both his own tongue and his older self’s.

“Sorry.” Raihan’s voice isn’t particularly apologetic, more of a formality than anything else, nor does his hand still. “My bad.”

Leon feels Raihan’s teeth press against the side of neck, not quite biting yet even as he feels a wet tongue flick at the flesh, and his grip tighten once more, fingers still stroking and hand moving. It isn’t quite comfortable—too jerky, movements intentionally either too slow or too quick—but he couldn’t complain, not with the tongue probing deeper into his mouth and the hands roaming his body, nails scraping along the skin of his chest and pinching at the nipples, nubs twisted between thick fingers.

It’s warm, overly so, and Leon almost finds himself squirming, motion stopped by the hands upon him and the bodies pressing against him, flesh flushed and sweaty and more firm muscle than anything else.

Overall, it isn’t like the magazines or even his own imagination. It isn’t soft enough for that—too eager, too rough, and too lacking in the imagined softness of the women on his father’s magazines. Though perhaps he shouldn’t have expected anything else. They aren’t women, and despite their respective similarities with himself and his own Raihan, they aren’t quite the same.

Too large, too tall, and characteristics all too different, only similar in passing rather than entirely exact.

Even between himself and his older self, they aren’t all too similar outside of a passing resemblance, more akin to siblings rather than the exact person in different moments of time.

Where his hair ends short, just below the chin, his ends pass the shoulders and just above mid-waist. Where his eyes are round, gold framed by long lashes, his are narrower, slightly darker in tint and similarly framed. Where his hands are small, slender and marked by the occasional scar, his are large, palms wide, fingers thick, and skin decorated with an assortment of callouses and blemishes, some faded and others darker, newer.

Really, outside of the shade of their hair, the similarities of their features—he couldn’t say that they were exactly the same, not with the slight crookedness of his older self’s nose and the faint scarring on his left cheek—and a plethora of other differences, both miniscule and otherwise.

They aren’t the same—he himself too young and he older and infused by experience.

And in that, he finds a peculiar thrill, curling further within his stomach and oddly enticing in everything—in the difference of scent, in the difference of physiques, and even in the difference of manner. Certainly, there are similarities, likes and dislikes that remain much the same, but it isn’t quite exact, too influenced by experience and the passage of time.

He, his older self, is too forward, too unabashed, in his actions—in the way he withdraws, teeth nipping painfully and quickly at his lips, in the way he shifts, bed creaking noisily, and in the way he leans forward and downward, tongue lapping at and in-between Raihan’s grip, fingers now splayed loosely around his cock even as his motions continue, spit and sweat and pre-cum intermixing with each tug.

It’s wet and forward, overly so, but he couldn’t complain, not without hypocrisy.

He’s too noisy for that—saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth, body trembling and attempting to thrust forward to meet his older self’s tongue even as he feels the grip on his hip tighten, nails digging into flesh—and nearly bucking, eagerness especially apparent and only intensifying when he feels his older self’s hand on his ankle, lifting him upward, and his tongue slide from his cock, to and around his balls, and to his ass before it pushes inward.

It’s dirty, vulgar—he’s certain of that—but he couldn’t quite help but push back, warm tongue soon delving deeper and coating his insides in spit, as another high noise leaves him, a consequence of Raihan biting downward, teeth clamping onto his neck.

Embarrassing. It’s embarrassing how reacts, but at the very least, his partners couldn’t comment on it, couldn’t tease him as they are now.

He’s certain that Raihan would tease him if he could. Even with the difference in age and appearance, playfulness has always been one of Raihan’s defining characteristics, distinctive levity as recognizable as his headband.

Nonetheless, despite his embarrassment, another noise, involuntary and whining, leave him as his older self withdraws, hand still grasped loosely around his ankle.

“Do you want to take us both?”

He isn’t quite sure of his meaning, even as Raihan's hand stills and his mouth lifts from his neck, just enough to speak and lips grazing with the barest hint of a frown.

“That’s too much.”

His older self shakes his head. “It’s not. He’ll be fine.” He peers up at Leon. “Won’t you?”

“I-fine about what?” Perhaps it makes him overly oblivious, but he still doesn’t understand his meaning even with Raihan’s interjection.

“You know”—he doesn’t even as his older self continues, self-assured and candid as always—“can we both fuck you? At once? It’ll be fun. A bit painful, but fun. I promise.”

Oh.

Leon flushes further at that though he doesn’t reply. Really, what should he say to that? His older self is too frank, too straightforward, for what his words entail.

But still, he couldn’t quite help the bud of interest that forms. He’s too curious for that even as he hears Raihan speak, words tinged with a bit of concern.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he hears, breath once again tickling his neck. “Really, don’t push yourself too much.”

The gaze upon him is expectant, steady, even as Raihan opens his mouth to speak again, air tickling his neck once more.

He shouldn’t—he knows that—but he’s too curious, naturally so, to do otherwise, and his older self knows it. He himself knows it.

Why else would he offer?

Before Raihan can begin, Leon interrupts him. “It’s fine. I mean…I can take it.” He pauses for a moment before continuing, “Really, it’s fine.”

“I…are you sure?”

He doesn’t really understand his concern—Raihan hadn’t been all too concerned earlier—but he nods, repeating himself once more. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He feels another shift, another brush of Raihan’s lips, parting again before promptly closing, concern stifled, as a pair of hands, his older self’s, eagerly move to pull his pants and boxers farther down, fabric sliding down sweaty skin and soon bunching around his ankles.

It isn’t a particularly difficult task, even when he feels Raihan’s hand move to his hip, urging him to lift himself upward and motion met with compliance—eagerness similarly apparent as his older self’s.

He’s eager, excited further by the distinctive sound of popping pants buttons and the sight of his older self undoing his own belt, and not particularly bothered by the feeling of Raihan’s cock, warm length rubbing against his skin as he settles back onto his lap.

He isn’t bothered even when he feels his older self lean forward once more, pressing his cock against his entrance and bringing a hand upward to comb through his hair, mouth moving to ask a simple “Is this fine?”

He nods naturally. Why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t see a problem with any of it—not with the hands resting upon his hips, not with their intent, and not with the sizes of their cocks. Certainly, he expects some discomfort—he hasn’t had sex before, and the women in the videos he’s watched have never been quiet—but not too much, a prick of pain at most.

His older self had been rather frank—self-assured—about it after all.

Thus, he doesn’t expect it to _hurt_ like it does when Raihan enters, cock inching in slowly and motion drawing a loud scream.

His eyes are watering, tears nearly dripping, when he feels his older self run his hand through his hair again, fingertips pressing lightly against the scalp and voice murmuring another assurance.

“It’ll be fine,” he hears, feeling his fingers comb through the sweaty strands, untangling knots. “You can take it, right? You’re me after all, and we don’t do anything halfway.”

Leon flushes again even as he feels Raihan’s grip on his hips loosen, the cock in his ass still, and another brush of his lips, parting to speak.

It’s contradictory. He wants to stop, but he doesn’t, not with how his older self looks at him, eyes still expectant and framed by the same dark lashes he sees whenever he peers into a mirror.

“It’s fine,” Leon finds himself saying, breathing ragged. “You can keep going. I’ll be fine.”

Raihan’s breath tickles his neck once more, and he almost expects another objection, but thankfully, it doesn’t come. Instead, he only continues, grip tightening and cock eventually bottoming out.

It hurts even when he feels a mouth press gently against his, lips soon moving.

“You’re doing fine so far,” his older self says, words coaxing and soft and hand still combing through his hair. “More than fine even, but can I fuck you now? It’ll hurt a bit, but it’ll fine afterwards. You wouldn’t want to stop now, right? Just relax.”

Leon shudders. He shouldn’t be as aroused as he is now—even with his inexperience, he understands that—but he finds himself nodding anyway, motion shaky and uneven.

“Good. Good. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

His words draw another shudder as his older self withdraws and as he feels another cock press against his entrance, pushing inward and drawing another scream, tears finally streaming downward.

His older self isn’t as gentle as Raihan, motion rougher and more hurried, and he feels the beginning of another scream, sound soon muffled as his older self once again kisses him.

“It’ll be fine,” his older self repeats as he finally bottoms out, words still soft against his lips. “Just relax, okay? We’ll be starting soon.”

With those words, he feels his older self move, withdrawing slightly before thrusting again, motion soon followed by Raihan’s. They aren’t particularly coordinated, more uneven—thrusts a mix of shallow and deep, quick and slow—but he’s full, overly so, and panting anyhow, breathing ragged and arms coming to wrap tightly around his older self’s neck, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

It hurts even as he feels the pain eventually lessen, body acclimating, and another nip on his neck, bite soon followed a wet tongue lapping upon bruised skin. Though, despite the lessening pain, it isn’t particularly pleasurable—not as his older self’s words would lead him to believe—not until he feels another thrust, cock burying deep within him, stretching his ass further and drawing a loud moan.

He almost bites down on his lip to muffle the noise until he feels his older self’s hand comb through his hair again and a tongue flick against his mouth.

“You don’t have to be quiet, you know.” He’s noisy as he feels a hand move to his cock, fingers wrapping around the length and tugging with thumb and forefinger pressing against the slit, rubbing lazily. “The neighbors won’t mind, and we won’t either. Won’t we?”

Raihan doesn’t reply to that. Leon only feels his grip tighten on his hips, nails digging in further, and another thrust into his ass.

Unperturbed, his older self continues, “Really, we don’t mind. Be as loud as you want. It’s cute.”

Leon almost wants to consider the implications of that—really who calls their younger self cute?—but he doesn’t have time to, not when he feels his older self thrust again, tip hitting his prostate again.

Really, he doesn’t have time to consider much else as his older self’s pace quickens, hand tugging his head forward and tongue soon slipping into his mouth mid-scream.

It still isn’t entirely pleasurable—their position is still too awkward for that, too wet, too sticky, and too warm—but he couldn’t quite complain, not with the warmth in his stomach, the hands on his hips, grip now tight enough to leave behind handprints, and Raihan’s pace quickening to match his older self’s.

It’s rough, overly sticky, but he doesn’t quite know what to expect when he cums. Certainly, he knows the feeling—he has masturbated before—but much like with sex itself, he doesn’t know what he should _do_ , not when there are other people involved.

He knows what he should expect from the magazines and from the videos—noise and stickiness, more so than now—but it isn’t quite the same as reality.

When he cums, much sooner than either of his partners and white coating his older self’s hand, they don’t stop, still thrusting until they similarly cum—fluid filling him wholly, teeth biting harshly into his neck, and tongue pushing deeper into his mouth and nearly into his throat.

It isn’t like the videos, the magazines, or even his own imagination, and the aftermath isn’t either or rather, he doesn’t know _what_ the aftermath should be. The videos always finish before then.

He doesn’t expect a declaration of love—that’s weird and uncomfortable even with consideration to their own activities—but he doesn’t know what else to expect either. He doesn’t think they would force him out of the bedroom or anything like that, but what else could there be?

At the very least, he expects _something_ , serious or otherwise. It would be too awkward if there weren’t.

But still, even with his own thoughts and expectations, he doesn’t expect his older self’s words, candid and simplistic and more fit for commenting on a weekend trip than on sex.

“Did you have fun? A Champion Time?”

Really, who asks that? Fun? “A Champion Time”?

Even he knows how silly that sounds, and he thinks Raihan agrees what with the way he snorts, flabbergasted and mouth having lifted from his neck.

A Champion Time. How silly.

He doesn’t know what it means, but nonetheless, he knows it’s silly, too casual for everything right now.

But still, he nods. It would be impolite not to answer, and he had been raised to be polite.

Naturally, his older self knows that, eyes still expectant even as he finishes answering.

They are the same person after all.


	2. Pop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon finds himself thrown over a decade into the future, and like many people, he's rather curious about certain things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be better to split up the piece tbh. I already had everything done in advance, but it just looked better as separate chapters. Though I did accidentally mess up on posting this chapter, so I had to delete it quickly and redo the posting.

“’A Champion Time’? Really?”

“I thought it would be a good way to end everything, you know?” Leon says as he picks up his toothbrush from the bathroom counter. “I don’t want to be _too_ serious.”

Raihan wants to disagree with that—literally fucking yourself isn’t an event that should be taken lightly he thinks—but he quickly closes his mouth, thinking better. He knows Leon—his Leon—well enough. Much like with a metronome and its swinging, Leon isn’t prone to changing his mind once his pace has been set, no matter how nonsensical the matter.

He doesn’t want to argue—or rather pettily squabble—over something as mundane as that tonight, not with Leon’s younger self still in their bedroom, halfway dozing off.

Really, they should be more concerned about that. He still doesn’t understand Leon’s reasoning for allowing him to stay as long as he has, not when they know someone with a Celebi.

He doesn’t think either Piers or Victor would be angry about a call for something like this.

Raihan shakes his head. “Never mind then.” Another pause before he continues, “But still, shouldn’t we be more concerned about him? Couldn’t we just call Victor already?”

He doesn’t expect Leon to be as flippant as he is, hand moving to retrieve the toothpaste from the bathroom cabinet, but he is.

“He’ll be fine,” Leon says. “I mean, I turned out fine. Don’t you think?”

Raihan’s not entirely certain about that, but he doesn’t voice his thoughts.

Leon continues, “We can send him back in about two weeks. That’s ‘bout when I got sent back, and we don’t really need to call Victor. Piers’ll be pissed if we do.”

He couldn’t quite help himself this time. “Piers isn’t that unreasonable. I don’t think he’ll be mad about sending your younger self back.”

Leon shakes his head before frowning. “That’s not the problem. He’ll be mad that I borrowed Celebi in the first place. I mean they do it all the time. I don’t see what’s wrong with us doing it this time, an—”

Oh shit. He could already guess Leon’s meaning, but he asks anyway.

“What do you mean by ‘borrowed’?”

Leon shouldn’t be as nonplussed as he is, but Raihan hasn’t come to expect anything else from him. They’ve been together long enough and known each other for much longer. He knows Leon’s tendencies.

“You said a few weeks ago that you thought it’d be fun to fuck my younger self,” Leon explains, gesturing slightly. “And Victor has a Celebi, so it works out. It’s not like I mind or anything. It’s actually part of the reason why I asked you out when we were younger, an—”

Raihan ignores the last part. He doesn’t want to think about being outdone by his older—younger? It is post-coitus after all, and he doesn’t quite understand the specifics of time travel—self in terms of affection, and his head hurts enough with everything else anyhow. He doesn’t need another matter to consider.

He only interrupts Leon once more. “I didn’t mean _literally_. It’s just a fantasy, Leon. We were talking about our fantasies.” He shouldn’t feel as guilty as he does when Leon deflates slightly, a bit disappointed. “I mean…I appreciate the thought, but won’t this fuck up the timeline or something? I know you said you were fine with it, but won’t there be some unforeseen consequences or some shit?”

He’s watched enough movies and played enough video games to understand that part.

Leon shakes his head. “Probably not. Piers and Victor do it enough, and nothing’s happened to them yet.”

He almost doesn’t want to ask—he knows better than to expect anything even remotely resembling _good_ from Piers—but against his better judgment, he does, curiosity winning over reason.

Hesitantly, Raihan asks, “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird how they disappear for a week every few months, or how Piers, when we were younger, always wandered off somewhere for a few days and always came back really disheveled? He’s not bad with directions, and he’s not accident-prone.”

Oh fuck. He doesn’t want to think about that either, but really, what other answer should he have expected? He’s not stupid, merely optimistic.

“But still,” Leon continues. “We could send him back in a few hours if you want.” He sounds a bit disappointed at that, too disappointed even. “I have Celebi hidden in the guest bedroom, under the secret panel—the one you never clean whenever I ask you to dust the place.”

He doesn’t comment on the jibe. He knows his own faults—Leon does too and he in return for his—and he doesn’t like that compartment all too much anyway, not after finding a full-sized Spinarak in there. Really, he still doesn’t understand that. Spinarak aren’t native to Galar.

Rather, he’s more concerned about Leon—about the slight droop of his shoulders and the slight downturn his lips. He knows Leon well enough, and he likes Leon well enough to understand his inclinations, as strange as they sometimes are. Leon wouldn’t voice his disappointment over a matter such as this, not with the understanding of his partner’s discomfort.

But still, he likes Leon enough to dislike his disappointment and the idea of his unhappiness.

Perhaps it’s against his better judgement—he knows damn well what Leon wants to do in the span of two weeks—but he finds himself speaking again.

“We can talk about it in the morning,” Raihan says after a few moments of silence. “Figure out what to do with him then. You said nothing weird happened to Piers and Victor, right? Another day won’t hurt.”

He shouldn’t feel as relieved, happy, as he does when Leon perks back up, a bit too pleased about the matter.

But perhaps he shouldn’t expect anything else, not with how well they know each other.

They are dating after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was an excuse to write short-haired shota!Leon honestly and to make a joke about how 2/3s of the Adult Trio would fuck themselves tbh. I just feel like Raihan's the most well-adjusted person in Galar for some reason.
> 
> But yeah, Piers/Victor actually does play a role in this fic in the background rather than being pure author preference alongside the shiny Celebi event for Gen VIII. It's the setup.
> 
> I was actually going to do this fic where it's Piers fucking his younger self, but then it's like...it's a perfect time to do a DNKB fic that's problematic. I am looking forward to the other idea I have romping around my head for them if I ever get to it but that one's a "Dead Dove: Do not Eat" in terms of content and general sensibilities. Not by my standards though if I were to be honest...but objectively...

**Author's Note:**

> I sat for like two weeks trying to figure out how to make Raihan/Leon problematic without rehashing the "big" problematic tropes I've already written, and I eventually settled on underage selfcest coercion. I didn't want to go for something too obvious like sex pollen even though I don't have the tag for it yet. It's like...gotta save that one...too low on the problematic scale...
> 
> And honestly, this is really super tame considering what my other options were for DNKB and what I want to write for Piers/Victor...Selfcest is also honestly pretty low on the problematic scale imo, but it's whatever...
> 
> As an aside, older Leon was actually going to go by "Lee" for simplicity's sake and possibly incest subtext, but then it's like...nah...let's save that for if I decide to do a Leehop fic...
> 
> This is also my first DNKB fic funnily enough. You'd think I'd already have a fic for the current juggernaut pair for this fandom...
> 
> I do like DNKB though, just less than like DNNZ, WTKB, DNWT, and whatever Leon/Cynthia is but my interest in a ship is often tied to how unpopular and/or problematic it is...but I feel like I should do at least one since I like DNKB, and shota!Leon is good...double Leon is also good...it's just that...


End file.
